Once upon a midnight dreary, whilst I pondered, weak and weary
Booksellers of the Rare & the Remarkable
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before. — Edgar Allan Poe, "The Raven," 1845
Volumes selected with the same obsessive care with which a madman tends to the sound beneath the floorboards.
The Midnight
Compendium
The Midnight Compendium
★★★★★
$28.00
House of
Hollow Doors
House of Hollow Doors
★★★★★
$24.00
The Annabel
Variations
The Annabel Variations
★★★★☆
$34.00
The Pendulum
Diaries
The Pendulum Diaries
★★★★★
$22.00
Nevermore:
Collected Verse
Nevermore: Collected Verse
★★★★★
$19.00
Cask & Crypt:
A Vintage Horror
Cask & Crypt
★★★★☆
$26.00
Each alcove of our shop holds its own peculiar atmosphere. Enter at your peril — and your pleasure.
Verse from the Void
Poetry to read by candlelight — from the classical to the beautifully damned.
214 volumesTales Most Peculiar
Short fiction of the strange, the macabre, and the quietly terrifying. Sleep optional.
389 volumesGothic & Romantic
Ruins, longing, doomed love, and architecture as metaphor. The classics of beautifully unhinged fiction.
176 volumesRatiocinative Minds
Mystery, detection, and the cold comfort of pure deductive logic — in tribute to Monsieur Dupin.
301 volumesRare & Epistolary
Letters, manuscripts, first editions — objects haunted by the hands that first held them.
93 volumesDreamscapes
Surrealism, fantasy, and the literature of the unconscious. What the sleeping mind conjures.
257 volumes1809 – 1849
"I became insane, with long intervals of horrible sanity."
We at the Crooked Crow owe an incalculable debt to this most tormented and visionary of souls — the father of the detective story, architect of the psychological thriller, and poet of a grief so profound it broke free of language entirely. Every candle we burn, every midnight sale, every volume shelved in shadow is in his honor.
Browse the Poe CollectionI stepped into this shop seeking a birthday gift and emerged four hours later, clutching seven volumes I didn't know I needed. The staff speak of books the way others speak of old loves.
The Crooked Crow carries volumes I have searched for in vain across three continents. It is either a miracle or witchcraft; I have ceased to care which.
To order from them is to receive not merely a book but an experience — wrapped in black tissue, sealed with wax, accompanied by a handwritten note that somehow knows exactly what you needed to read.